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There were little moments - brief and minuscule moments - where the American drew Ivan in with how he breathed.. He could be sleeping, like he was now with the rise and fall of his chest a mesmerizing sight, and Ivan would not be able to look away. So, he didn’t.
The Russian reached out, let fingers run their course down the sides of Alfred’s face, his neck, and further still until cold tips met the skin at his belly, all the while watching him take in the air around them.
A pain ached in Ivan’s chest.
His nails dug, clawing into Alfred’s warmth, as his arms slid around the blonde’s waist. Then, on top of Alfred’s chest Ivan rested his head, his violet colored gaze now gone with the closing of his eyes, ear directly over that soothing heartbeat.
Rise, inhale. Fall, exhale. Breath by breath he matched the younger slumbering nation. ..And behind those eyelids, under each intake, there was the desire to claw deeper (he wouldn’t), to be under that skin and really know how Alfred felt.
His pain got worse.
Continued to because--
Hands relaxed as Ivan splayed his fingers. He no longer dug his nails into Alfred. Most likely he was afraid that he really would dig too deep and wake the other by accident.
A pause. .. . Then.
“Ya lyublyu tebya.”
Ivan said.
I love you .
And, Ivan did.
He loved Alfred.
Loved him more than anything. More than the centuries long hate still there buried deep (so, so very deep) in the cold nation's heart. He loved him like he believed in fate - utterly, completely; this very instance destined to happen long before either of them knew existence.
Yes, he truly believed they were meant for each other and no one else.
So it hurt - ached - something awful to be this close to America. Yet, he felt even that closeness was not enough for the Russian. A part of Ivan still needed, no wanted, to tie that so-called American freedom down to him and become---Russia shuddered out a breath as he felt nimble fingers that weren’t his own rake through his hair, disturbing the overly-possessive thoughts that begun to rear their ugly head in his mind.
“Big guy,” Russia heard, even picked his head up, eyes open again so he could watch words leave lips.
“You’re crushing me. C’mon..” America whined, softly, almost as softly as his pets to Russia’s hair were, but Russia paid the whines no mind.
Even as “Get off me” came the larger nation remained on top of America. How can anyone move when those lips were mesmerizing? When this warmth was comfortable?
It took a yank to beige tresses for America to pull Russia away from the sight of his mouth, gaze lifting to meet blue.
“I know you can hear me.”
There was a stern sound as well as a look to the American. It made Russia frown.
“Da, I can.” Heard him loud and clear. “Ask me again later, when I wish to move.” Because right now there was no way he could.
All there was to do anyhow was guide soft, warm lips to cold ones by the gentle up tilt of knuckle beneath chin, but even that Russia avoided doing. To move now.. To leave this comfortable state of simply being with the younger nation.. No taste from bratty tongues and mouths.. Breath calm---Why ruin such a moment?
..Why ruin it..?
Russia looked away the moment America loosened his hold on his hair, sighed as America began to casually curl and uncurl locks around his young war-worn fingers, and when America raked nails through his hair again Russia lifted himself onto elbows; finally won over.
He dazed back at those eyes he had looked away from moments before, searching within their waking depths for something.
“Kiss me.”
A thoughtful blink. One made out to be like the older nation heard wrong.
“Kiss me Ivan..”
America stopped all motions with his hands, both his palms rested at the nape of Russia’s neck.Those bright beautiful blue eyes were on Russia to return any look thrown at him.
“You might as well,” he reasoned.
And Russia felt the beating in his heart speed up.
“Since you won’t get off me,” America continued. “And--” Never got to finish because cheeks were cupped by freezing palms, thumbs kept at the rise of cheekbones. Russia stroked across them right beneath his eyes. He felt eyelashes flutter when America closed them..
“And?” Russia asked upon wanting lips, breathing on that usually cocky mouth as he closed his own eyes to a sliver.
However, there were no more words from the younger nation so Russia found himself again at odds with himself: to kiss America or simply force the other to sleep some more with Russia’s weight trapping the American underneath him.
Why ruin such a thing? Came to Russia’s mind again. This time, though, this time he found his answer in the very thing that created his question.
Alfred breathed.
Breathed on Russia’s lips with such a force that it sounded close to a pleading whimper. The older Nation felt himself crumble in a way that had nothing to do with the slight tremor in his frame because of it. All the peace in the world between them could be ruined for this- -whatever this was.
So, Russia did what he should have from the start.
He kissed him.
He pressed his lips fully to America’s mouth, ran his thumbs down cheeks, hands traveling lower to clasp at the columns of the younger’s neck. Getting carried away with America, Russia opened his mouth when America’s tongue licked at his lips to part them. Groaned when red lines were made in his skin as America scratched his nails towards shoulder blades... Air came, inhaled through their noses, mingling together in the heady moment, as he kissed him over and over and over. As many times as America wanted. Even when America drew away to gasp he was brought right back into another kiss by Russia.
“Ivan--Ivy--” It’s what he wanted, “I can’t,” It’s what Alfred asked for, “please, I have to--” And despite all he said against continuing, it was Alfred that wrapped himself further around Ivan. The ankles that crossed one another and pressed into Ivan’s back belonged to Alfred. The mouth that kept coming back after the breaks in between gasps was Alfred’s. All this was the American’s doing, so Ivan paid little attention to the pleads that begged the Russian to stop.
They stayed like this, Alfred in Ivan’s arms, for the rest of the morning.
And, Ivan.. Ivan was simply content with this.